


Maltese Moon

by flawedamythyst



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Getting Back Together, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, Love songs, M/M, Malta, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Nicky has just left the seminary and given up his dream of becoming a priest when he hears The Old Guard's latest single 'Maltese Moon' and discovers that his first love, who he never should have said goodbye to, has become the bass player for Europe's biggest rock band.And all his songs are about Nicky.Thanks to Nny for betaing!
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 129
Kudos: 524





	Maltese Moon

Nicky had been at home for a week when he first heard _Maltese Moon_. 

He‘d spent most of that week just drifting, wandering around his parents’ house wondering why it didn’t feel like home any longer, and trying to work out how to start making plans for his future now that he’d walked away from everything he’d ever worked for.

His sister Maria had come home from university for the Easter break a couple of days ago, and had sensibly kept out of everyone’s way since. The sibling sixth sense had no doubt told her that while Nicky was causing so much drama, she should lay low and not invite any backlash onto herself.

Nicky wasn’t as wise. Or maybe he just wanted to get past this part where everyone was angry and disappointed in him. Maybe he could hurry it along by pushing, in stark defiance of how these things had always gone in his family. Typically, this kind of low level disapproval rumbling on under the surface of every interaction lasted for weeks or even months.

He’d gone down to the kitchen, intending to help his mother with dinner so he could at least feel useful, and had been chased out by the kind of stony-cold refusal to engage that their mother excelled at. He was moping back to his bedroom, once again wondering how on earth he was ever going to fix this, when he heard the music coming from Maria’s room.

At first he ignored it, as he had all the other songs he’d heard coming from her room over the last couple of days (lying low did not mean staying quiet when you were a 20 year old girl), but then his ear caught on a word in the chorus that brought up a whole sweep of memories. He paused in place to hear the rest, plunging into bitter regret at the worst decision he’d ever made, the one that had caused all the others like a cascade, until he’d ended up here.

_You’re worth more than the Maltese moon, it glows but you shine,_ sang a powerful woman’s voice as the song hit what was clearly the chorus.

Malta. Fuck.

Nicky had taken a year out before starting his undergrad degree, and gone to a school in Malta to help teach Italian. He’d also intended to spend his free time volunteering with the local church, getting to know the congregation and gaining experience with the wider Catholic congregation outside Italy to strengthen his application to the seminary once he’d completed his theology degree. Becoming a priest had been his aim since he’d been young, and everything he’d done since then had built towards that.

At least until he met Yusuf.

Yusuf had been volunteering with the school as well, teaching Arabic. They’d both been given spare rooms in the headmaster’s home to live in, eating meals with him and his wife every night, so perhaps it made sense that they’d become close. But then, Nicky couldn’t imagine a world where he’d met Yusuf in any capacity and hadn’t immediately wanted to spend every hour he could with him.

Happily, Yusuf had felt the same and they’d taken to going down to the tiny rocky beach near the headmaster’s house every evening. They’d both brought their guitars to Malta, and they’d messed about playing together, singing their favourite songs from their homes to each other and occasionally making up their own tunes.

Yusuf had always been better than Nicky at that. He’d made up little ditties on the spot and sung them to Nicky, laughing when they made Nicky blush and then refusing to let him hide his face away because, “There is only me and the moon here, habibi, and the moon does not care.”

They’d shared their first kiss after one of Yusuf’s songs. Nicky just hadn’t been able to keep himself from reaching out for him, even though he’d known all along that it would end with heartbreak.

Yusuf had let his guitar fall to one side so he could pull Nicky in close and kiss him back, wrapping his arms around him and clinging on with all the passion Nicky had been feeling.

_Just this,_ he’d told himself. _Just this one year, and then I will be able to give this up for God, knowing exactly what I am sacrificing for Him._

Even then, he’d known it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Maria’s door muffled the sound of the song enough that Nicky couldn’t make out the words when it shifted to the next verse, and he found himself tapping on the door and going inside when she called out so he could hear it better.

“What song is this?” he asked, and she gave him the ‘horrified by how lame my brother is’ look that she’d been perfecting since she was 13.

“Oh my god Nicolo, how can you not know it? It’s The Old Guard!”

“Ah,” said Nicky. “That’s the name of the song?”

She actually rolled her eyes at that. “No! That’s the band! How the hell haven't you heard of The Old Guard, they’re huge! Have you been under a rock for the last couple of years?”

“Almost,” said Nicky. “There was not a lot of pop music at the seminary.”

She looked a bit caught by that, but didn’t let it stop her flow on how uncool he was. “It’s not _pop_ , it’s rock,” she said. “They’re _global_ , their first album was everywhere. This is _Maltese Moon_ , the first single from their second album.” She waved a hand at a poster on the wall behind Nicky, and he turned to look at it. “That’s from when they played Glastonbury last year.”

Nicky examined it. The lead singer was a woman dressed in tight black clothes, looking chic and as if she would happily fuck up anyone who got in her way. Behind her was a keyboardist with a rumpled look and tired eyes, a woman with a guitar and some amazingly intricate braids, a drummer who looked as if she were about to trash her drumkit and a bass guitarist.

A bass guitarist who Nicky recognised despite the years that had passed and the beard he had grown.

Yusuf.

Maria stood up and came over to look at the poster with him. “That’s Andy, Booker, Joe, Nile and Quynh,” she said. “Seriously, how have you not heard any of their songs? They’re everywhere.”

Nicky shook his head, staring at Yusuf - Joe, as he was apparently going by now. He looked happy, swept up in the moment as they clearly rocked out to some song.

The track ended and another started playing. This was slower, with Andy’s voice soaring in strong over a quiet tune that Nicky had heard before, picked out in idle moments as he and Yusuf chatted about everything and nothing.

_We were only kids but I knew what my heart wanted._

Nicky dragged in a sharp breath. Oh god.

“Thanks,” he muttered to Maria, and got the fuck out of there before he heard any more. He went back to his room, shut the door firmly against the music, and collapsed onto the bed.

God damn it, Yusuf.

****

“It’s getting colder, we’ll have to start bringing blankets down with us,” said Nicky, shifting closer to Yusuf on the large rock they always sat on and moving his guitar out of the way so he could press in closer.

“No need, habibi,” said Yusuf, wrapping an arm around Nicky’s shoulders just as he’d hoped he would, and pulling him in close. “I will keep you warm with the strength of my love.”

Nicky couldn’t help snorting at that, even as he snuggled in close and leaned his head against Yusuf’s shoulder, staring out at the black expanse of the sea. “Is this where you tell me you burn like a furnace just from being close to me?”

“Of course,” said Yusuf, as if it didn’t require any thought. “Or no, perhaps my love for you is stronger than even a furnace. It is a forest fire, destroying all I thought I knew and bringing regeneration and new life in its wake.”

Nicky laughed at him, turning his head to press a kiss to his neck. “I suppose hyperbole is what you get when you fall for an artist.”

“It is not hyperbole,” said Yusuf. “Nicky, meeting you has changed everything I thought I knew about myself. I am having to rebuild myself in the wake of you.”

Nicky sat up, pulling away. “Yusuf,” he said quietly, and Yusuf clenched his jaw.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t tell me that I don’t understand myself.”

“We’re so young still,” said Nicky. “It feels strong now, but we’re still teenagers. We’re having our first romance, and it feels like everything, but it doesn’t mean it will last.”

Yusuf cupped his hand around Nicky’s cheek and gave him the fierce look that meant he wasn’t prepared to debate about this. “It will last for me. Nicolo, you are everything I never thought I was allowed to dream of. I know what my heart is telling me, what it wants. What it will continue to want even if you walk away once this year is over.”

Nicky swallowed around a dry throat. “Yusuf,” he said, helplessly, and fell into Yusuf, kissing him with all the emotions he was telling himself would fade once their year away from real life was over.

But they hadn’t faded, and it seemed as if they hadn’t for Yusuf either, if he was writing songs about Nicky.

No, no that was just- Songwriters needed inspiration, right? Lots of songs were about teenage love, it didn’t mean the writers were all still pining after their first boyfriends or girlfriends.

Yusuf was just writing about that year in Malta because it made for a good song. It had been nearly five years, there was no way he was still hung up on Nicky.

If he was a famous rockstar now, as well as still being the most beautiful man Nicky had ever seen, and talented and funny and so alive for every moment, then he must have someone. Maybe lots of someones.

Nicky reached for his phone and started Googling, even though he knew he was only poking at a wound that he should be leaving to heal. At least this way he’d get confirmation that he was nothing but a memory to Yusuf now.

Over the next hour, he found out a lot about both Yusuf and The Old Guard. He read reviews of their music, he watched videos of their performances and a few of their interviews. He even looked up the lyrics of their songs, all of them marked with ‘Songwriter: Y. Al-Kaysani’.

None of it put Nicky’s wild fantasy that Yusuf thought about him to rest.

The band had all met while in university in London, the first year Yusuf would have been there, not even six months after he and Nicky had said goodbye. From the interviews Nicky read, they’d all bonded over being queer foreign students, and then ended up playing together whenever they hung out until it had just made sense for them to form a band. From there they’d gone from strength to strength, playing tiny pubs and student unions, then larger venues, before getting a management contract with Copley Records. Their first single, _Forest Fire_ , charted in the UK and then several other countries as they went on a tour that seemed to cement them as a force to be reckoned with. All the reviews Nicky read made it very clear that they were incredible to hear live, and he thought about how Yusuf’s eyes had shone whenever he’d played for Nicky, and had to take a deep breath.

He was doing what he loved, and he was getting all the acclaim he deserved for it. A swell of happiness for him filled Nicky’s chest. He might not have achieved what he’d thought was his dream, but at least Yusuf was getting his.

Feeling vaguely creepy but unable to stop himself, Nicky dug further into Yusuf’s personal life. Despite having been out as gay since before the band were famous, Yusuf had never revealed a relationship to the media, or even been seen in a compromising position with someone. When asked about it in interviews he just smiled and said he was married to his music. 

Nicky watched a clip of one particular interview where he laughed at the question then said ‘Alas, my muse is the only one for me’ on repeat five times. After the interviewer turned to ask Andy the next question, the smile fell off Yusuf’s face and he just looked so sad and tired for a split-second, before he pushed his emotions away for the camera. Nicky felt his heart clench his chest.

Many of the lyrics that Yusuf had written held memories of conversations they’d had in Malta, or experiences they’d shared. _Our guitars glinting in the light of the fire_ and _I still walk that cliff path in my dreams_ and even the repeated mentions of the moon, which seemed to turn up in every song, usually only in passing but sometimes as a more central theme.

There was speculation online about that, about what it meant, but Yusuf had never really properly answered any questions about it, other than to laugh it off as, “Don’t you know? The moon is my muse.”

The interviewer had taken that to be nothing more than pretty words, but Nicky had a sick feeling that he knew better.

They had both stayed in Malta for a week after school ended for the summer, taking advantage of the free time to go on trips all across the island, to all the places they never quite made it to in the nine months they’d been there. They’d held hands in museums and ducked into tiny cobbled alleyways to kiss and shared pastizzi together and Nicky hadn’t wanted it to ever end.

But he’d known it had to.

Their last night in Malta had found them back down on the beach where they’d spent so many hours together. They’d left their guitars behind this time, just cuddling up together and watching the moon glint off the waves.

“I’m glad it’s a full moon tonight, for our last night,” said Nicky. “It’s beautiful.”

Yusuf’s arm tightened around him. “You are more beautiful than the moon,” he said softly.

“Yusuf,” said Nicky, a wave of misery washing over him because these few months stolen out of his life had been amazing, but he had to go back to the real world now. He was going to be a priest, he was dedicating his life to God. There wasn’t going to be a place for romance in that.

Yusuf sat up enough to turn and press a kiss to Nicky’s lips. “You are, mi amor, you are more beautiful than the moon, more dazzling than the stars, the blue of your eyes puts the sea to shame. You are everything to me, Nicolo, habibi, mi amor, my moon.”

“Don’t,” said Nicky, choking on the word as he curled his hand around the back of Yusuf’s neck, feeling his curls brushing against his skin. “Please, Yusuf, you know this has to end.”

“I know no such thing,” said Yusuf. “I know I love you, and that I can’t imagine ever not loving you. I know I am going to university in London next year which is a long way from Genoa, I know, I know, but it is not Tunisia, there are no laws preventing me from loving you there if you came to visit, just as there are none in Italy-”

“I am going to be a priest,” Nicky reminded him, his voice thick with the tears he was fighting against. “Yusuf, please. I can’t have this with you.”

Yusuf let out a very long breath, tipping his head forward to rest against Nicky’s forehead. “You won’t make your vows for years yet,” he said. “We have time.”

“No,” said Nicky. “No, that’s not fair to you. To either of us. I can’t love you while we are both at university knowing that it will have to end when I make my vows.”

Yusuf was silent for a long moment, his hand stroking through Nicky’s hair as he kept their foreheads pressed together. “You could not make those vows,” he said, and it was whisper-quiet.

“Yusuf,” said Nicky, tears starting to fall. “Please, don’t- Don’t ask me that. It’s what I want. What I’ve always wanted.”

“I know, I know,” said Yusuf, and he was crying as well now. “I know, my love, my moon, I know. I just can’t help wishing that things were different.”

“Me too,” said Nicky, and then pulled him into a long kiss that cut off the conversation as they both took their last taste.

_I’ll never kiss anyone again,_ Nicky thought as he kissed Yusuf. _These are my last kisses. I will never want anyone like I want him._

And that had been that. The next morning they had gone to the airport and caught different flights back to their different homes, and Nicky had started the long, hard job of putting all his memories aside and burying his feelings down deep so that when he applied for the seminary, he could truly say that there were no emotional attachments holding him back from dedicating his life to God.

And now the sacrifice had been for nothing, because he had dropped out of the seminary anyway.

“Dinner’s ready!” called Nicky’s mother from downstairs, and Nicky took a deep breath, resolutely closing the search window, and tucked his phone away as he headed downstairs. There was no reason to get stuck on might-have-beens when he still needed to work out what he was going to do with a theology degree and one year of seminary, and no desire to work for the Catholic Church.

****

After dinner, which carried the same uncomfortable silence as every other dinner they’d had since Nicky had come home, Nicky escaped up to his room again, shutting the door behind himself. He found himself reaching under the bed and pulling his guitar case out.

When had been the last time he’d even touched it? He’d played it a few times at university but it hadn’t felt the same without Yusuf next to him, matching his chords and making up some silly lyrics that ended with them both laughing too much to keep playing.

He opened the case and pulled out the guitar, running his hand over the smooth wood, then his eye fell on the scrap of paper in the bottom of the case.

He pulled it out, feeling his heart clench in his chest. His name in Arabic, written in beautifully smooth calligraphy. Joe had given it to him one day, back when they’d both been in the golden haze of presenting each other with tiny tokens of their feelings, and the end of their time together had felt an eternity away.

Nicky took a deep breath and turned his attention back to his guitar. Tuning it took a long time and getting his hands used to the feel of strings under his fingers took even longer. Eventually he was able to play a few chords and not wince at the sound, and he slid into an old Italian folksong that he’d played several times for Yusuf, even daring to sing it once or twice, when he’d been filled with enough love not to feel self-conscious of his voice.

From there, it was easy to fall into picking through the other songs he still remembered without having to find music for, the ones they’d played most often together. He even found himself remembering one that Yusuf had written, little more than a few bars of melody but it felt like so much more, it felt like the whole of that perfect year when he’d been so young and happy, and so foolish he’d thought he should throw it all away.

He was playing it through a second time when Maria threw open his bedroom door without knocking.

“I knew you must have heard of them,” she said as Nicky abruptly stopped playing. “I knew there was no way you’d had your head that far in the sand.”

“What?” asked Nicky, still buried deep in memories.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Earlier you were claiming not to have heard of The Old Guard, and now you’re playing one of their songs.”

Nicky just stared at her. “He turned it into a song?”

“What?” she asked, then shook her head. “Nicky, don’t be an idiot. You’re playing _Firelight_ , we both know it.”

_Firelight_. Nicky had read the lyrics to that earlier without listening to the tune. It had been about the joy of messing about with music and jamming with friends, and had clearly referenced several different parts of Yusuf’s life, including the first days of forming The Old Guard, but the chorus had come back to nights spent on a beach, which must have been about Malta.

Nicky let out a sigh, curling over his guitar. “I knew him,” he said. “Yusuf- No, he’s Joe now. I knew him when I was in Malta. I didn’t know he’d become famous.”

Maria stared at him for a very long moment and then announced, “Bullshit!” loudly enough for their mother to call up from downstairs about language. Maria scowled over her shoulder then came into Nicky’s room fully, closing the door behind her. “Bullshit,” she said again, quieter. “There is no way a nerd like you knows an actual rockstar.”

Nicky snorted with amusement, because that seemed like a horribly accurate summary of the situation, and yet…

He set his guitar down and bent under his bed for the old shoebox he kept mementos in, leafing through until he found one of the few photos of Yusuf that he’d allowed himself to keep. He passed it to Maria without another word and she stared at it.

“No way,” she said. “That’s not him. Is it? I mean, it looks like him, sure, but...What the fuck, Nico?”

“He was on a gap year in Malta as well, teaching Arabic at the same school as me,” he said. “We used to play together in the evenings, but we haven’t spoken since we left. I had no idea he’d even joined a band. I thought he was going to be an artist.”

Maria gaped at him. “He was studying fine art in London when the band all met,” she said, breathlessly. “Oh my god, Nicky, holy shit, my older brother knows _Joe Al-Kaysani_ how the hell is this happening oh shit, oh shit, you have to be able to get tickets or something right? That has to happen.”

Nicky plucked the photo back out of her hands. “No,” he said. “I am not going to go bother him just because he’s now rich and famous.”

“That’s-” she started, then made a face. “Probably fair,” she conceded, “but, fuck, Nicky, seriously? Why the hell couldn’t you have kept in contact so I could get backstage passes? Would that really have been so hard?”

Nicky laughed again but it sounded off even to him. “While I thought I was going to be a priest?” he asked. “Yes, it would have been very hard.”

“What,” said Maria flatly, and her eyes went wide as she realised the implications of that. Maria was the only person in their family who knew Nicky was gay, largely because Nicky hadn’t thought there was much point in going through the drama of telling everyone else when becoming a priest rendered it all irrelevant. He supposed that was something he’d have to rethink now. “Oh my god Nicolo, _please_ tell me you didn’t bang Joe Al-Kaysani.”

Nicky just shrugged at her, glancing down at the photo. Yusuf was standing in the sunlight, grinning widely as the wind sent his curls flying.

“Oh my god,” repeated Maria, sinking down to sit on the bed next to Nicky. “Oh shit, I don’t- I did not need to know my brother has ever had a sex life and yet…”

“I’m sorry that I am no longer going to remain celibate for my life so that you never have to contemplate my sex life,” said Nicky.

“Shut up,” said Maria, hitting him with the back of her hand. “I am having to take in a lot right now, okay? My big brother fucked a rockstar on his gap year, a rockstar who has written a whole song about falling in love in Malta and oh holy fucking shit please tell me _Maltese Moon_ isn’t about you, Nicky, please tell me that, I cannot cope with my big brother having a love song about him that is number one in, like, half of Europe.”

“It’s number one?” asked Nicky and just got a glare. He sighed. “I don’t know if it’s about me, you would have to ask Yusuf. Joe.” Her glare strengthened. “I do believe I was the only person he was falling in love with that year we were in Malta together,” he admitted. “But perhaps he went back to Malta and fell in love with someone else another time?”

Another person who he compared to the moon. Perhaps he only had one or two romantic lines and just recycled them for every new boyfriend.

Nicky remembered how easily words had flowed to Yusuf, and couldn’t believe that.

“Oh my god,” said Maria in a rasping voice. “Okay, well, that’s different, now you definitely have to get in touch with him.”

Nicky snorted, putting the photo back in the box and shutting the lid. “I am not getting you free tickets.”

“No, I mean- Well, okay, you absolutely will get me free tickets if I’m right about this, but- Nicky. Not wanting to contact a rockstar you only know because you taught at the same school is very different to contacting a rockstar who has written a love song about you. He doesn’t date or anything, everyone knows that, what if he’s still into you? It’s not like there’s anything holding you back now.”

Nicky took a deep breath, then shook his head. “No it’s not- It’s been too long. And what would I even do? Write a letter to their management? That’s-”

“They’re playing some concerts in Milan next week,” said Maria. “I tried to get tickets but it sold out like, almost immediately. You should go.”

“You think I should go all the way to Milan to stand outside a concert I don’t have a ticket for?” asked Nicky. “You’re insane.”

“I think you should go to Milan to pass a letter to the bouncer for him, or whatever,” said Maria. “And, let’s be honest, it’s not like you’re doing anything else with your time. And Uncle Federico lives there, you can stay with him and get a night away from Mama’s disapproval, and he might even have some ideas about what you could do with the rest of your life.”

Nicky let out a sigh, because a night or two away from the silent judgement of their mother sounded pretty good. “Maybe,” he acknowledged.

She beamed at him. “I’ll go look up train times,” she said, and bounced out of the room before he could point out that ‘maybe’ wasn’t ‘definitely’.

Well, he could go stay with Uncle Federico anyway. Nothing said that he had to go to the concert once he was in Milan, and Maria wouldn’t be there to bully him into it.

He picked his guitar up again and strummed at it, falling back into Yusuf’s tune again.

****

There were a handful of over-excited fans hanging around the stage door and Nicky immediately regretted coming. He hung back, wondering what the fuck he was doing, just as one of the fans looked at his watch and said something and they all scurried off to the main entrance to get in before the show started.

That left just Nicky and the bouncer, who crossed his arms and stared Nicky down, clearly waiting for him to leave as well.

Shit, well, he’d come all this way, he really shouldn’t just turn around and walk away. No matter how tempting it was.

He walked over to the bouncer, whose unimpressed look only hardened, and tried out a smile that had absolutely no impact. “Uh, hi, I wonder if-”

“No one gets backstage except those on the list,” said the bouncer.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to go in,” said Nicky. “I just wondered if you could ask someone to pass this to Yusuf- Joe for me. Joe Al-Kaysani?” He held out the note that he’d spent far too long drafting.

The bouncer didn’t move. “Anything for the band should be sent to their management. You can Google their address.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Nicky, wilting slightly because he could already tell he wasn’t going to get anywhere but he wasn’t about to give up so quickly. “It’s just, I used to know him, when we were younger. I just wanted to let him know my number in case he wanted to get in touch. Can you-”

The bouncer’s expression made it clear that he couldn’t.

“Can you at least ask him if he wants it?” asked Nicky, with some desperation, feeling like a complete idiot, or the worst kind of stalker-fan. “My name is Nicky, Nicky di Genova, he’ll remember me, could you-”

“Nicolo di Genova?” interrupted the bouncer, giving him a very strange look.

“Uh, yeah,” said Nicky. “That’s me.”

The bouncer’s face creased into an actual smile. “You should have said earlier. You’re on the guestlist.”

Nicky stared at him. “What?”

“You’re always on the guestlist,” said the bouncer. “Every Old Guard gig I’ve worked, your name is right at the top.”

He reached behind himself and swung open the stage door while Nicky tried to process that. “Go right in.”

“Uh,” said Nicky, “I don’t- Where do I go?” Oh shit, he hadn’t actually prepared himself to _see_ Yusuf again tonight, he’d thought at the least he’d have a buffer of some text messages before he had to cope with that.

“Hang on, let me- Dan! Danny!” the bouncer called through the door, and a man wearing a headset appeared. “This is Nicolo di Genova, can you take him to the dressing room to see Joe?”

Danny gave Nicky an up-and-down look. “No shit,” he said, sounding impressed. “Wow, okay. You finally turned up. Come on, this way.”

He took off fast before Nicky could protest that he hadn’t known he was meant to turn up. He followed Danny through the mess of backstage, his heart in his mouth as he tried to work out exactly what he should say to Yusuf and what the hell it meant that he’d been on the guestlist for all his shows.

Maybe it was meant to be another Nicolo di Genova, there had to be some others around. It would be a weird coincidence, but…

“Here we are,” announced Danny, pushing open a door. “Got a visitor, guys.”

It was a large dressing room, filled with several people eating snacks, swigging beer, or putting the final touches on their outfits. Nicky recognised most of them as the other band members, but his eyes were drawn immediately to the back of a head of curls in front of a mirror.

“It’s Nicolo di Genova,” added Danny, and suddenly everyone in the room was turning to stare at Nicky.

He only had eyes for Yusuf, though, whose head jerked around and, shit, how was he even more beautiful than he had been when they’d been 19? Age had given him creases around his eyes from how much smiling he’d done, and he had a neatly trimmed beard that Nicky wanted to run his hands over, and, shit, he’d been halfway through putting on eyeliner, Nicky wasn’t sure he was going to be able to cope with how hot he was in makeup.

“Nicky,” breathed Yusuf. “You’re here.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Nicky, feeling horribly awkward as everyone else stared at him. “Hi. I, um, I’m sorry to bother you, I was just going to leave a note with the bouncer, and then he told me I could come in.”

“Yes,” said Yusuf, still sounding dazed, and there was an awkward pause as they both just stared at each other.

“Wow, the Actual Nicolo,” said the guitarist, Nile. “It’s like finding out unicorns are real.”

“Fuck off, Nile,” said Yusuf evenly, not taking his eyes away from Nicky’s. “In fact, all of you fuck off, I’ll be out in a bit.”

“You heard the man,” said Andy, clapping her hands and standing up. “Let’s leave them to it. You’ve only got five minutes though, Joe, we’re going on on time this evening.”

Yusuf just waved a hand at her. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there,” he said, but he was still staring at Nicky and, fuck, Nicky couldn’t look away. Just being in Yusuf’s presence was bringing back all those feelings he’d told himself firmly were nothing but puppy love, except they were far too strong for that to be true. How on earth had he thought he could just walk away from this?

“Nicky,” said Yusuf again, once the room had cleared out, and he gestured at the chair next to him. “You came to see me.”

“Yeah,” said Nicky, forcing his feet to take him closer so he could sink into the chair. “Well, I heard your song about Malta and it seemed like maybe you wouldn’t mind catching up.” 

Yusuf snorted. “You could say that,” he said, and then winced. “You’re not here to tell me off for writing about you, are you? I made sure to keep it vague so no one would know it was you, and I don’t talk about you to the media at all.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Nicky. “Well, a bit weird to find out that my sister has been obsessing over a song about me without knowing it, but…” He took a breath. “It’s lovely, Yusuf. It’s such a beautiful song, you’re so talented. All your songs are beautiful.”

“All my songs are about you,” said Yusuf. “If they are beautiful it is because of that, because you’re my muse, Nicky, you’re the only thing I can write about.”

Nicky was struck dumb by the emotion in his voice, his mouth going dry as he met Yusuf’s eyes and saw everything he was feeling showing on his face. Yusuf never had been able to hide anything he was feeling. “Yusuf,” he said, breathlessly.

Yusuf flushed and ducked his head, pulling back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m probably not meant to talk like that to a priest, right?”

“I’m not a priest,” said Nicky, dumbly.

Yusuf waved a hand. “Future-priest, whatever.”

“No,” said Nicky, “I’m not...I left the seminary. I’m never going to be a priest.”

Yusuf’s head darted up and he stared at Nicky again. “You’re not….Nicky, that was your dream.”

“I know,” said Nicky. “It was, it was everything I thought I wanted, but then I got older, and I thought about how I wanted my life to be, what I wanted it to stand for, and…” He shook his head, still not able to put words to exactly why he’d woken up one morning and realised he didn’t want to follow that path. “It wasn’t what I wanted anymore,” he said instead.

Yusuf reached out and took his hand. “I’m sorry for you that you lost that dream,” he said. “I know it was important to you.”

Nicky found a smile, but he could feel tears in his eyes, because everyone else he’d had to tell had either started to tell him why he needed to become a priest anyway, or to explain why they’d known it had been a bad idea from the start. None of them had understood how it hurt to lose the basis that Nicky had planned his life around. “Thank you,” he said, softly.

The door was pushed open and someone called, “Two minutes,” then disappeared before Nicky could pull his eyes away from Yusuf to look over.

“Shit,” said Yusuf, “I have to go. Andy’s been getting really strict on starting the show on time.” He stood up and Nicky rose as well, feeling all the awkwardness of cornering someone just before they went on stage. “Do you want to watch?” asked Yusuf. “If you stay, we can talk more later.”

Nicky blinked at him. “I don’t have a ticket.”

Yusuf laughed. “You’re with the band, backstage,” he said. “You don’t need a ticket. Come on, you can watch from the wings.” He started to pull Nicky out of the room, not letting go of his hand. Nicky just tightened his grip and followed after him, past roadies and equipment, until they reached the side of the stage where the rest of the band were waiting. Nicky could hear the screams of a huge crowd from the auditorium, and he had to blink and remind himself that he was backstage at a concert for one of the biggest bands in Europe right now, and not just catching up with an old friend.

“Oh for…” said the drummer, Quynh, as soon as she saw them. “Joe! You never finished your eyeliner.” She pulled a pencil out of her back pocket and pushed him up against a wall, raising herself onto tiptoes as he obligingly held still for her, apparently used to being attacked with make-up.

“Hi,” said Nile to Nicky. “You staying to watch?”

“Ah, yeah. If that’s okay,” said Nicky.

“Oh, more than fine,” said Nile, grinning at him.

“We are very much looking forward to meeting you properly after the show,” added the keyboardist, in a distinctly French accent. “I want to know who I have been singing about all these years.”

Nicky felt himself blush and glanced at Yusuf for help, who had managed to fend the drummer off. “Leave him alone, Booker, you’ll scare him off.”

“And then Joe will _sulk_ ,” added Nile.

“I don’t think you need to worry about scaring me off,” said Nicky and earned himself another of Yusuf’s beaming smiles. “I wasn’t scared off after the trip to Mdina when you drank all that wine and then-”

“Okay!” interrupted Yusuf before Nicky could finish. “You make a good point, habibi, but no need to share those old memories now, yes?”

God, Nicky had missed hearing Yusuf call him habibi.

Nile nudged Nicky. “You can share later instead,” she said.

“I would be happy to,” said Nicky and Yusuf groaned, but when Nicky glanced over he was still smiling, as if he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Okay, enough banter,” said Andy. “Everyone ready to go on? Everyone remembered to go to the bathroom?”

“That was one time,” muttered Booker quietly. The rest ignored him.

Yusuf squeezed Nicky’s hand. “I hope you enjoy the show.”

“I’m sure I will,” said Nicky, and then the lights were changing and they were all trooping on stage, leaving him behind to watch. The noise of the crowd rose to a fever pitch as they all headed to their instruments, checking them over before glancing at each other, and then at Andy. She nodded around at them all, then turned to her microphone.

“We’re The Old Guard!” she shouted, and the screams threatened to take the roof off as the band burst into their first song.

****

Nicky had become as much of an expert on Old Guard songs as he could manage in a week, listening to them over and over, picking out every tiny reference that he thought he might recognise. Nothing could have prepared him for seeing them actually performed live though, for the passion and the energy that the band poured into their music, the way Andy worked the crowd until they were chanting along with her, the way Nile went into a long guitar solo that Nicky had a feeling was entirely improvised.

The way Yusuf kept glancing over at the wings to meet Nicky’s eye.

If Nicky had thought he was hot before, that was nothing to how he looked with a guitar in his hands, playing out the bass notes of the songs he’d written with his whole face lit up with joy, swinging his hips to the beat and beaming out at the crowd and, fuck, how the hell had Nicky ever managed to walk away from him? He’d been a complete idiot.

They were close to the end of the gig when Yusuf tugged Andy away from the mic between songs, saying something quietly to her as Booker noodled around on the keyboard to entertain the crowd. She gave him a surprised look and Nicky could read ‘Are you sure?’ off her lips, then Joe glanced back at Nicky before nodding firmly at her.

She shrugged and nodded, then turned back to her mic.

“Okay, we’ve got a special treat for you tonight. Joe’s decided he’s going to take the lead on the next song. I guess this means I’m becoming obsolete.”

A particularly shrill woman yelled, “Never!” from the front of the crowd and she grinned down at her, tipping a salute in her direction. 

“Okay, maybe not, it’s not like he’d be able to hit the highs on _Beachside Rendezvous_.”

“I could give it a try,” said Booker, and made an ear splitting shrieking noise that made Nile throw a guitar pick at him. 

“Yeah, I think my job’s safe,” said Andy. “At any rate, here’s Joe, please be gentle with him.”

She stepped away from her mic and Yusuf took her place, changing the angle on it slightly before glancing over at the others to check they were ready. Andy moved over to his mic, clearly ready to join in with the back-up vocals.

“Okay,” said Joe, looking back at the crowd. “This is a song I wrote for the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, who just so happens to be here tonight. I hope you enjoy it.”

He turned enough to catch Nicky’s eyes just as he launched into _Maltese Moon_ , heartfelt emotion beaming out of him that Nicky recognised all too well from nights on that tiny beach together. He felt his own emotions welling up as Yusuf sang, keeping his eyes on Nicky as often as not, so clearly serenading him, and Nicky…

Nicky wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through the whole song without making a fool of himself.

_You’re worth more than the Maltese moon, it glows but you shine,_   
_You’re worth more than the shimmering stars, your eyes burn twice as bright,_   
_You’re worth more than the whole wide ocean, my love is a wave bearing me away._

Mostly, Nicky just stood and stared at Joe as the audience sang along with the chorus, the whole auditorium caught up in the tune that Yusuf had written _for Nicky_.

God, there was no way Nicky could let this man go again. No matter what the rest of his life held, he knew he wanted it to include Yusuf. Hell, he _needed_ it to include Yusuf. 

The song came to a close with a crashingly loud repeat of the chorus and then Yusuf looked over at Nicky again as he strummed the last note and Nicky couldn’t stay still where he was any longer, he couldn’t live with any distance between them right now. He walked forward onto the stage, then hesitated, suddenly aware of how visible he was.

He didn’t need to move any further though, because Yusuf’s eyes were still caught on his and he abandoned the mic in order to stride over to Nicky, swinging his guitar on its strap so it hung behind him and didn’t get in the way when Nicky grabbed his hands and pulled him in close.

“I was an idiot,” he said. “Yusuf, I love you. Please say it’s not too late.”

“It will never be too late, habibi,” said Yusuf, and then they were kissing, falling into each other and clinging on tightly as the crowd roared.

_I’ll never kiss anyone again,_ Nicky had thought, four years and a lifetime ago, the last time they’d kissed, and he thought it again now. Joe was the only one for him and, thank god, it seemed he’d get to have him, even despite the horrible mess he’d made of everything.

“Okay,” he heard Andy’s voice saying into the mic, “so Joe is a little distracted right now, shall we see if we even need him for the last song? Maybe he’s the one that’s obsolete.”

Yusuf pulled away from Nicky’s mouth but didn’t let go of his face, resting their foreheads together. “One last song, and then I will be all yours,” he said quietly to Nicky.

“Okay,” said Nicky, breathlessly, then found a smile somewhere in his mess of whirling emotions of love and wonder. “I am already all yours.”

Yusuf groaned and leaned in to kiss him again. “Nicky, my love, my muse, my moon, you can’t _say_ such things when there are thousands of people watching us.”

That pulled Nicky up, because he hadn’t really been thinking about the crowd. He pulled away, somehow finding the willpower to step out of Yusuf’s arms. “One last song,” he said. “I’ll be watching.”

Yusuf took a deep breath and nodded at him, then turned back to the front of the stage, waving at the crowd as he headed back to his mic.

“My apologies, but I’ve been waiting more than four years for that.” He glanced over at Andy and grinned at her. “I’m ready now.”

“Alright then,” she said. “Let’s hit it.”

****

It felt like there was nothing outside of Yusuf after that. Nicky was vaguely aware that the band played their last song, and then came off stage for long enough for Yusuf to back Nicky against a wall and kiss him again, leaving him desperate and breathless when Yusuf got dragged away again for an encore that Nicky spent leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling and trying to gather enough thought to work out what he needed to do next.

Uncle Federico. He needed to tell Uncle Federico that he was going to be late getting back to his.

If he got back at all.

He thought about waking up tomorrow morning in Yusuf’s arms, and had to take a deep breath, then texted his uncle.

The response he got made it clear that his uncle thought any young man who had just been released from the lingering shadow of a vow of celibacy was more than justified to spend a few nights out in other people’s beds, but that he was assuming it would be women’s beds. Nicky thought about clarifying that, and then decided maybe it could wait.

When the band came off stage the second time, Yusuf stepped straight back into Nicky’s arms. “One encore only,” he announced, and Andy let out a half-laugh, half-sigh somewhere behind him, in the world Nicky wasn’t paying attention to because Yusuf was _right there_.

“Okay, fine. Let’s get back to the hotel before they crowd the stage door, then.”

Nicky let himself be led through the backstage area, hand firmly clenched around Yusuf’s, and then they were all swept outside and into waiting cars for what seemed like a very short trip to the hotel. That may just have been because Nicky seemed to lose time everytime Yusuf kissed him, and they spent the whole journey making out.

There was clearly about to be an aftershow party at the hotel, but Yusuf just kept leading Nicky through all the preparations for it and into a bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind them both and then tumbling Nicky down onto the bed.

“Is this okay?” he asked, hesitating for the first time since they’d kissed. “Not too fast? We can just talk, maybe join the others-”

Nicky didn’t let him finish, pulling him down into a long kiss. “It’s not too fast,” he said. “It’s four years too slow. Please, Yusuf, let me feel you again. I missed you so much.”

“Oh god,” said Yusuf. “Yes, me too, I missed you too.”

After that, they didn’t do much talking for a few hours.

It was later, much later, when they were lying quietly together, Yusuf’s arms wrapped around Nicky as he relaxed back into him, listening to the faint sounds of the party continuing next door and wishing there was some way to just stay here in this moment forever.

“Will you stay?” Yusuf asked quietly against the back of Nicky’s neck.

“Of course,” said Nicky. “I told my uncle I’d be out all night.”

Yusuf’s arms tightened around him. “No, I mean, will you _stay_? Nicolo, will you stay with me?”

Nicky roused himself enough to turn over in his arms, leaning in close to kiss him, soft and careful. “Of course,” said Nicky. “I’m done being stupid about this, Yusuf. I’m here for as long as you want me.”

Yusuf’s lovely smile spread across his face. “Only my family calls me Yusuf now,” he said. “I love hearing it in your voice.” He kissed Nicky again. “I want to hear it every morning.”

Nicky couldn’t help but return his smile. “I’ll see if I can manage that,” he said. “You’ve got another couple of concerts here, right? I’m in Milan until Wednesday, so that’s at least a few more mornings.”

Yusuf let out a quiet sigh and pressed his forehead against Nicky’s. “I want more than a few,” he said. “I want them all. Our tour goes on for another month, is there any way you can meet us at any of the other locations? I am more than happy to pay for your travel, if you can get the time off.”

Nicky laughed. “Time off,” he repeated. “Yusuf, I have nothing to take time off from. I left the seminary last month and have been living with my parents trying to work out what to do with the rest of my life. I can be wherever you want, whenever you want.”

“I want you with me, always,” said Yusuf immediately. “Nicky, will you come with us? For the whole tour? I want to play for you every night and wake up with you every morning.”

“Yusuf...” said Nicky, then could find no reason not to let him have that. Let them both have that. What else was he going to do? Go home to his mother’s disapproval? “Yes, please. If you want me to, I definitely want to.”

Yusuf’s whole face lit up and he breathed Nicky’s name again, sinking into another kiss that turned long and passionate and evolved into something more, even though Nicky would have said that he was far too tired for another round. It turned out that, for Yusuf, he could manage anything.

****

It was late the next morning when they made it out of bed and into the shower, and pretty much lunchtime by the time they made it out of the shower and into clothes. Yusuf lent Nicky some of his and then gave him a deeply-satisfied smile when he’d put them on that Nicky pretended not to see, because he had a feeling it would lead to another round of sex and he really wanted some breakfast before he let himself fall into that again.

When they left Yusuf’s bedroom, Nicky found it was part of a large suite that he hadn’t registered at all yesterday when he’d been completely focused on getting Yusuf into bed as soon as possible. There was a large lounge room with various other doors leading off that must go to other bedrooms, because the rest of the band were slumped around the place, some of them eating breakfast from a buffet spread on a table along one wall. Most of them looked as if they were still wearing what they’d slept in, and Nicky thought that being a rockstar probably meant breakfast happened at lunchtime anyway.

“Hah!” said Nile as he and Yusuf came out. “Knew it.” She held out a hand to Booker, who grumbled to himself and pulled out a wallet, handing over some notes.

“Seriously, guys?” asked Yusuf. “You’re betting on us already?”

“What kind of epic love affair doesn’t stay in bed until at least the afternoon?” asked Booker. “I’m very disappointed in you, Joe.”

Yusuf looked at Nicky, taking his hand as if he couldn’t bear not to be touching him. “I’m so sorry for their terrible manners, please ignore everything they say.”

Nicky squeezed his hand back. “It’s fine,” he said. “Clearly they didn’t realise just how hungry we’d be after hours and hours of having, ah, an ‘epic love affair’.”

“It really was epic,” agreed Yusuf, a smile tilting up the edge of his mouth.

“Oh Jesus,” muttered Booker.

Andy pointed at them with the spoon she was eating cereal with. “No discussion of anyone’s sex life until we’ve all had coffee,” she said. “You know the rule.”

Yusuf rolled his eyes at her, but the subject was dropped as he took Nicky over to the breakfast buffet. They filled up plates with pastries and mugs with coffee, then found a spare sofa to settle down on together.

“Okay, here we go,” said Nile, who had been playing with her phone. “Who wants to see?”

“Put it on the big screen,” said Quynh, turning to settle against Andy where she could see the TV screen better.

Nile did some fiddling, and the website she’d been looking at her phone appeared on the TV instead. Nicky was vaguely impressed with how easy she’d made it look when he was pretty sure it would have taken him an hour of swearing to do the same.

It was a YouTube page titled ‘OMG JOE SANG MALTESE MOON!!!!’, with the video frozen on a view of the stage the previous night from somewhere near the front of the crowd.

Yusuf groaned. “Oh no, do we have to?”

“Of course,” said Quynh. “Play it, Nile.”

Yusuf let out a deep sigh, slumping back against Nicky, and Nicky happily put an arm around him, holding him close. “You’re all bastards,” muttered Yusuf.

“Ssssh,” said Nicky. “I want to see you sing my song again.” His song. His song, written for him by a sexy, kind, perfect man, and sung to a crowd of thousands and now online where anyone could watch it.

“You mean _one_ of your songs,” said Booker. “Hey, Joe, now you’re actually getting to fuck your muse, are you finally going to write about something, anything else?”

“If you don’t like my songs you may write your own,” said Joe. “And no, I don’t think that’s likely. I wrote _Maltese Moon_ when I hadn’t seen him in years, and it went platinum last week. Imagine how popular the songs I write will be now my muse is restored to me.”

“Mon Dieu,” muttered Booker, and got hushed by Nile as she started the video, making it fullscreen.

Watching Yusuf sing again, seeing how much time he spent looking backstage to where Nicky had been, and the way the crowd yelled and screamed for him, made Nicky wonder if maybe he wasn’t having some kind of extended hallucination. There was no way this was his life, being serenaded by a rockstar and whisked off on tour with one of Europe’s biggest bands.

The clip reached the end of the song, but kept going to show Nicky coming on stage and then hesitating, and Yusuf coming over to sweep him up into a kiss that, wow, looked pretty damn romantic from here. Nicky turned to press a kiss to Yusuf’s lips. “I’m a very lucky man,” he murmured to him, and Yusuf smiled at him again.

“Okay, okay, and now the best bit,” said Nile as the clip ended. She closed the fullscreen video and then scrolled down the page. “Time for the comments.”

Yusuf groaned again, burying his face in Nicky’s shoulder, and Nicky stroked a hand over his tousled curls. 

“Do we have to?” he asked, because he may not be famous in any way, or even particularly savvy with social media, but even he knew the golden rule was ‘don’t read the comments’.

“Oh yes,” said Andy, with satisfaction. “Old Guard rules when someone makes a spectacle of themselves at a show.”

The band took turns reading out the comments, putting the appropriate levels of drama into them depending on the punctuation, while Yusuf buried his face further into Nicky’s neck, his skin feeling hot as he flushed at some of them.

“OMG He’s SO HOOTTTTT I AM SCREEEEAAAAMING.”

“Holy shit whoever that guy is is so fucking lucky how fucking romantic is this???”

“PETITION FOR JOE TO SING EVERY TIME.”

“So, like, we’re all sure that’s his muse, right? Or do we think he’s moved on from Moon Guy?”

“That is definitely moon guy, no way Joe’s just going to go singing MM to anyone else.”

“Moon Guy?” asked Nicky, weakly.

“Our most rabid fans-” started Nile, and got interrupted by Andy.

“Beloved fans,” she corrected.

Nile gestured at her. “Right, sure. Our most _beloved_ fans worked out a while back that when Joe talked about his muse, he was talking about one specific guy, and they nicknamed him - you - Moon Guy because, you know. There are a lot of moon references.”

“I like the moon,” said Yusuf, his voice muffled against Nicky’s shoulder.

Nicky thought about that, about having a nickname amongst the fans before he’d even known this band existed, and ran his hand through Yusuf’s curls. “The moon likes you too,” he said, and felt Yusuf smile against his neck.

“Oh, this thread is gold,” said Booker. “Nile, will you read it with me?”

“Of course,” she said, turning to the screen and clearing her throat.

“I mean, he’s okay but I dunno why y’all are getting so excited, he’s not that great a singer. Andy is way better. I’d feel cheated if I went to a concert and didn’t get to hear her sing their big single.”

“OMG how can you say that?? You can hear her sing it any time you play the recorded version, and she sang all the other songs, but getting to hear Joe sing the song he wrote to the guy he wrote it for, holy shit, I’d have DIED if I’d been there.”

“I guess I’m more into their music than I am their personal lives.”

“Fuck off, troll.”

“Okay, okay, calm down everybody. I think we can all agree that Andy has more range and power than anyone else-”

“Damn right she does,” said Quynh, and leaned in to kiss Andy.

“-but I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone sing anything with as much emotion as Joe puts into this. You can tell just how much he loves this guy.”

“It’s SO CUUUUUUUUTE!!!” ended Nile with a high-pitched squeal.

“It is pretty cute,” agreed Nicky, and raised Yusuf’s hand so he could kiss the back of it. Yusuf pulled his face out of Nicky’s neck so he could kiss him properly, and Nicky lost track of the next few comments that the band read out.

“Oh hey,” said Yusuf, once they’d pulled apart. “It’s cool if Nicky comes with us for the rest of the tour, right?”

Andy snorted. “As long as you manage to stay apart long enough to last a whole concert next time.”

“Sure,” said Yusuf, not taking his eyes off Nicky’s face. “We’ll have to work up to it, though.”

“Maybe get in a lot of time as close as possible before to give ourselves a buffer,” agreed Nicky, beaming at him.

“We could start that now, if you’ve finished breakfast,” said Yusuf.

“Yes, I think I’m fully recharged,” said Nicky, and let Yusuf pull him up off the sofa and back into his bedroom.

“Do you think we’re ever going to see Joe alone again?” he heard Booker ask as they went.

“Shut up, just be happy for him,” said Nile.

“At least it means the pining is done with,” added Quynh.

****

It wasn’t until hours later, when Yusuf reluctantly admitted that he needed to go get ready for the concert and went to take a shower, this time alone, that Nicky finally thought to check his phone.

He had seven missed calls from Maria, eleven increasingly excited texts, and a voicemail message that made him wince and immediately dial down the volume.

“NICOLO FEDERICO PAULO MARCO GIUSEPPI DI GENOVO. Yes I know you don’t have any middle names, I have had to invent some to make sure you fully realise just how much of a full name moment this is! I am watching a video of you MAKING OUT WITH JOE AL-KAYSANI ON STAGE and you are not answering my calls! CALL ME IMMEDIATELY.”

Nicky didn’t call her though, he just sent her a text.

_So, it seems like I will be able to get you those backstage passes after all._


End file.
